Their Side of the Story
by Jakyerski
Summary: Harry Potter and the this, Harry Potter and the that…Sure it IS his story, but doesn't anyone else get a say? What about the side characters, people we've seen only through Harry's eyes? What about Neville, Luna, Hagrid, and Remus? Even Lucius Malfoy must have had his reasons to do what he did. This is their side of the tale…
1. Vernon Dursley and the Decision

A/N: And we start with one of the most confusing, unreasonable, annoying, and most widely (often literally) portrayed characters in Rowling's work: Mr. Vernon Dursley. This eplanation fits in the second chapter of the first book, between Harry's rude awakening and Vernon's appearance on Dudley's birthday...

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"UP! Get UP! NOW!"

And with that shriek, another day begins in the Dursley Household. Vernon woke with the same start his nephew did in the cupboard down below. Normally, he would roll over and return to sleep (breakfast won't be ready for another 15 minutes at least you know), but today was Dudley's birthday, and he simply must be up to give the boy his presents. Heaven only knew what kind of display Dudley would have if his daddy wasn't there to help him!

As he rolled out of bed, Vernon considered the day ahead. After dropping _HIM_ off at that Figg woman's house, his family (and Dudley's little friend of course) would be off to the zoo. Not exactly Vernon's favorite place, but it was far better than those silly amusement parks (are all those safety bars really necessary? They give absolutely no service to large people!). Vernon sighed, thinking once again about that terrible morning ten years before, when Petunia had woken him with her shriek ('twas not the first time, his Pet had always been a bit jumpy, and as we have already seen it wasn't the last either). Why did the boy have to stay with them? He knew some letter had been left with him, but Petunia had never let him read it. Obviously, Vernon didn't know much about ma…you know, _it_, so he had to trust Petunia when she said that he wouldn't survive in an orphanage or adoptive home. Apparently some terrorist fool had killed the boy's parents, but botched the job of killing the kid, offing himself in the process. Vernon snorted, some terrorist, killed two adults, but screws up on the infant? What did the boy do, cry at him too loudly? But here came the confusing, and admittedly (though only to himself) terrifying part: that this guy had a lot of followers, and was clearly able to kill fully trained…others like him, but something about that kid stopped him. What was so special about this kid? And how could Vernon raise him alongside Dudley? They could never be equal, the boy was, well you know, and Dudley was a normal kid. How debilitating could it be for Dudley when he finds that he isn't the same as harry? What if Dudley decided that, in his childish opinion, being magical was better than being normal? Why would he look up to Vernon, when Harry could do magic? Dudley's esteem was (and is still!) very important to Vernon. He was trying to build Dudley into his own mold. And while some may see an obnoxious arrogant busybody, Vernon pointed to one thing in his defense: his bank account. Yes he was arrogant, pushy; my-way-or-the-highway kind of guy, but that is exactly the kind of personality that succeeds in today's cutthroat business world.

Aand what about those followers? They would almost certainly want revenge on the boy, and protecting him could be dangerous.

So Vernon made a decision, and a rather shrewd one if he did say so himself. He would take the boy in and raise him, feed him, clothe him…but only just. From day one, the boy would be lesser, inferior. Dudley would grow up believing in his father's and by extension his own superiority to the boy. And if that blasted letter came, well, and he couldn't get away from it of course, at least Dudley would still understand that magic is not good, the only good things in the world were those that society expected of you. And if those followers did find the Dursley home (although Petunia assured him that there was some kind of magic poppycock to stop them from just that), they would find a cooperative Mr. Dursley and a beaten down, slightly unhealthy kid. In other words, easy prey. He would never beat the boy, nor truly abuse him, but simply make it clear who was better. He would instill not a fear, but rather a healthy aversion to all things unnatural, and maybe…just maybe…help the Potter boy along the way. After all, success was there for the taking, as Vernon himself did. If he could convince the potter boy that his magic (although that explanation would only come after it was impossible to hide it anymore) was the reason for his inferiority, the boy would give it up! Become a normal productive member of society!

This wasn't an easy decision, no far from it. When all was said and done, the boy was just that: a _boy_. Just Dudley's age, and Vernon was dooming him to a childhood of misery. Even ignoring the boy himself, it was borderline criminal, and while Vernon Dursley was many things, a criminal was not one of them. No, he prided himself on working his way up through the system, every bit the modern self-made man. But of paramount importance, beyond money, status, any and everything was the safety and security of his wife and child. Petunia was his world, Dudley his pride and joy, and anything that compromised their safety would suffer. And unfortunately, this boy indirectly threatened them.

The argument between him and Petunia over the treatment of the boy lasted almost a year. In the early stages, the plan was impossible to be put into effect anyway: it wouldn't work on infants. Petunia thought it would be better to treat the kid well, that a grateful wizard, particularly one powerful enough to survive what he did, would be quite valuable. And she had a good point, but it was too far down the road. Vernon argued the more immediate threats of those followers and Dudley's developing mind overpowered the possible gains of an adult Harry years later. These freaks were out to disturb society, mess with the way things were supposed to be, and what they did on their own lands was their business, but he simply wouldn't have it in his house!

In the end she had been convinced. And when the boys got too big to sleep in their cribs they were separated, and the potter boy was given that useless cupboard as his "room." All his things were Dudley's hand-me-downs, and he was always talked down to. And after the Blue-hair incident, the Roof-incident, and the Re-growing Hair-incident, and other similar events proved that he was indeed ma…different, he was dubbed the freak.

Now, though, with the boys eleventh birthday approaching, the day he had been told by Petunia that the letter would come, Vernon was beginning to get apprehensive. While he had thought long and hard about the decision, he still wondered if it was the right one. Those followers had never shown up. The terrorist group they had been a part of was never mentioned on the news in the first place, and Vernon wondered if they even existed. The boy was scrawny little thing, a far cry from Dudley's healthy bulk, and was clearly cowed. Not a bad cook either, although practice does make perfect.

As Vernon walked into the kitchen and saw the subject of his musings working over the stove, he began to worry about the future. Would Harry, that scrawny little thing, grow up angry? Would he learn those abilities at his school, then come back and get revenge on Vernon and his family?

_Well, one possible solution is to stop him from ever going._ Vernon thought. _Even if that letter does come, we'll just ignore it. They will give up, and everything will be just fine._

"Comb your hair!"

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A/N: This is my first attempt a writing Fanfic, so let me know what I did wrong, alright? I'm planning to write quite a few of these, most revolving around actions or behaviors that didn't seem to make sense. The stories will probably stick to canon, or at least to my headcanon of how things went down. each will be about 1000 words, but don't expect any kind of regular updates. I'll write when I feel like it, although if people do like my musings, I will probably wind up writing more.

Thanks for reading,  
Jakyerski


	2. Rebeus Hagrid Vs Hippo-Man!

Quick Disclaimer: All credit for characters, settings, anything you recognize etc. etc. Belongs to someone else. More specifically, J.K. Rowling. All dialouge is taken directly from her work. Also important to note, me no making money on writing this stuff. If anyone thought I was...well maybe Fanfic isn't four you.

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_ That door wasn' built right._ Hagrid thought, as it collapsed. _And this hut thing is too darn small. What the hell are these people doing out here anyhow? Yeh'd think they was hidin' from someone!_

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…" He said. _Too right that…flyin' at my size, always did hate brooms._ He turned to survey his audience: _Well, alright let's see, we got a hippopotamus, a horse…_ "Budge up yeh great lump," _and a baby hippo_. The silly thing made some kind of mouse-like sound, and scurried off (also mouse-like).

_Guess that musta been the Dursley kid._ Hagrid was rather surprised that a child of eleven could possibly be that large. And he was something of an authority on large. Really, that just couldn't be healthy for a kid. Particularly when compared to the other boy…oh, right!

"An' here's Harry!" Hagrid smiled down at the, admittedly rather scrawny boy. Not a lot of meat on those bones, but those eyes were so intent, curious, and, rather surprisingly, not afraid. Sure, the kid looked a little apprehensive, and why wouldn't he? Hagrid was intimidating due to his sheer size. But there was none of the terror that clearly gripped the other three, even the one with that _grum? Na, that aint' right…ah, whatever I could snap that little toothpick like a…well, a toothpick!_

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby." Hagrid said, looking the kid over. Looking right back at him was James Potter, just smaller and those eyes… "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes." Harry looked surprised? _Tha' can' be right. Someone musta told 'im._ _Hang on, Hippo Senior is babbling about somethin', better shut him up._

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune." Hagrid reached over to that weapon thing, and decided that he much preferred pretzels to broken toothpicks, and proceeded to turn the rifle into one. Now that the Dursleys were taken care of, he turned back to Harry. After all, a cake does no good if it just sits around in a man's back pocket! Or one of the side pockets, or one of the interior pockets, well any pocket really.

_He's a brave little tyke, I'll give him that'. _He was a little Gryffindor, staring down the much larger man.

"Anyway-Harry, a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here-I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste alright." _'Course it will, ain't nothin' that can beat the Hogwarts elves! _Now if only he could've remembered which pocket he'd stashed the box in before lying taking that nap. It was only a little under him, but a little under Hagrid is a lot under most medium sized pieces of furniture, like a couch, or maybe a large armchair.

He pulled out the cake, took a moment to straighten out the box a bit, and offered it to the eleven year old boy (not the eleven year old tub of blubber who was now decidedly interested in that box). Harry's eyes were wide with shock. _Wha's he so surprised about? Can' be the firs' time he's gotten anything like this right? Nah, musta been me entrance! Sure was a bit dramatic…_

After a rather careful examination of the suspect piece of confectionery, Harry returned his attention to the suspect, erm, man. His mouth opened and closed a few times, clearly uncertain what to say. In the end, the phrase that won control of the mouth was: "Who are you?"

Hagrid chuckled at himself, _knew I forgot something: Introductions! Dumbledore's always tellin' me I need to be more mindful of my manners, and now I'm getting the same lesson from this little fella._

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keyes and Grounds at Hogwarts." He extended his hand for a handshake. Harry reached out cautiously, and as Hagrid decided to have a little fun by shaking the kid's whole arm.

_Ugh,, now I could really use a drink. Somethin' pretty stiff to deal with all that __flyin__'. _Hagrid gave a small shudder. One would think that having his head so far above the ground on a regular basis, Hagrid would have no trouble flying, and one would be correct. Black's motorbike, for example, was a perfectly good method of quick transportation. But as Hagrid didn't fit in many fireplaces (even those at Hogwarts) portkeys weren't designed for part giants, and he never got close to enough magical training for apparition, Hagrid was forced to use…brooms. And, as anyone could imagine, at eight and a half foot tall and fairly wide (not polite to ask you know!), Hagrid didn't like brooms. _Them and those Gringotts' carts. Never fails to rattle me nerves, and sicken me stomach._

Asking aloud for some of the aforementioned beverages ("What about that tea…summat stronger…") Hagrid spied the…fireplace. Well "place", yes. "Fire" not so much. _Well, ain't nobody here gonna report me if they don't see anything to report. I just block the view like this, an' quiet like now…_ he pulled out of another pocket a little jar of flames that Dumbledore had conjured up to help keep Hagrid warm on his journey. With a twist of the lid, a shake of the wrist, and thus a fire was burning in their midst…_alright, maybe I won't say that one out loud._

Now Hagrid was normally a truly polite person, and he found the Dursleys' response (or more accurately, lack thereof) quite offensive. Hagrid is definitely the resilient type, both literally and figuratively. Literally in that he is rather tough, figuratively in that he had been teased, taunted and generally treated awfully for the majority of his life, so manners slights didn't really bother him much. He tended to respond to such rude behaviors by treating the perpetrators as they treated him.

So as Hagrid pulled out some tea, and a few sausages (_kid's so darn skinny, he needs some food), _he had absolutely no intention of offering any to those people who were technically his (albeit unwilling) hosts. Since Hippo-man was still rather cowed (_mixin' me animal metaphors, that's only gonna help them authors what think I don't know English. Sorry, no, I don't know anything about this fourth wall you speak of…) _there was complete silence in the hut as Hagrid set about his most important task: cooking the sausages. As Pig-boy twitched towards the wonderful little fat sausages, Hippo-man found his voice to tell him not to take any. Hagrid found this rather amusing.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore Dursley, don' worry," He said, still chuckling. He passed all (but two) of the sausages to the stick—erm-Harry. The boy did his best to eat without looking at his food, his eyes still fixed on Hagrid and filled with confusion.

Finally, Harry asked "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are." _Eh?_

"Call me Hagrid, everyone does. An' I told yeh, I'm keeper of Keys at Hogwarts - Yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er-no, sorry."

"…."

_What? _Hagrid was so stunned he visibly started. Harry flinched back, "Sorry." _He's sorry? What for? How should he know if they didn't tell him…wait, they didn't tell him!?_

"Sorry? It's them as should be sorry!" Hagrid roared turning to face the cowering menagerie. "I knew yeh weren't getting yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud!" The thought of a young witch or wizard, born to a family that knows of magic, growing up in Britain without ever hearing of Hogwarts was simply unthinkable to Hagrid. The thought was so foreign to any of the Hogwarts staff that no one had considered it a remotely feasible possibility. Even Snape had agreed that Petunia, with all her flaws, would have raised the kid with an understanding of it all, albeit a somewhat jaded view. Then again, Snape hadn't seen Petunia since they were kids. But still, what about his mum and dad? Surely they must have told him about them being magic…right?

"Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?" Hagrid finished his little rant.

"All what?" was the only response.

"…."

_ Oh no. They didn'. Those little bastards, why I oughta…._In short, Hagrid blew a gasket.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid's voice shook the entire little hut, "Now wait jus' one second!" He stood up, barely fitting in the tiny room. He stepped forward in the gloom, crackling firelight the only illumination. He seemed to literally swell with anger, looming over the Dursley family. "Do you mean ter tell me," He was fighting so hard to keep the rest of his temper. His voice ground out between tightly clenched teeth. It was unthinkable, unheard of! Dumbledore had explained it all to them, it was in that letter. Hagrid and Professor McGonagall had both been told the exact contents of the letter, and while Hagrid couldn't remember the exact wording, he knew the tiny detail about MAGIC was included. "That this boy- This boy!-knows nothin' about- about ANYTHING?"

Dursley was speechless, that much was clear. His mouth mas moving, his body quivering, but no sound was emerging. Vaguely, Hagrid heard Harry say something about knowing some muggle sounding things. He waved the boy off. "About _our_ world, I mean. _Your_ World. _My_ world. _Yer parents' world_."

Harry's "What world?" Didn't make things any better for "DURSLEY!"

With a visible effort, Hagrid drew himself back under control. He turned back to Harry, disbelief written all across his face, "But yeh must know about yer mom and dad, I mean, they're _famous_. You're _famous_." Now disbelief replaced the curiosity on Harry's face, as he denied his parents fame.

_Unbelievable! _Thought Hagrid, as he mumbled to himself, over and over "yeh don' know…" Finally he realized the underlying truth, a truth so unimaginable, worse even than the unthinkable horror of not knowing about Hogwarts… "Yeh don' know what yeh _are_?"

Hippo-man made a temporary appearance, but he was defeated once again by his arch-nemesis Hagrid with his Furious Glare special power.

However, his return gave Hagrid a much needed target to let off some steam, "You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left for him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"

Harry was now clearly quite eager to learn the knowledge that his ever-so-loving relatives had hidden. "Kept what from me?" He asked, eyes glittering with glee as he watched his Uncle get verbally dressed down by this strange giant.

Hippo-man's last ditch attempt to foil Hagrid failed miserably, and what Horse-woman thought the gasp was going to accomplish no one would ever know. (_Maybe, a Big, Bad Wolf style 'Huff and Puff'?_).

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh, Harry-yer a wizard."

…..

…..

"I'm a _what_?"

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A/N: Thanks for bothering to check this out. I've always loved Hagrid, and had an absolute blast writing this. Hope you think I got him right. If you could please give me some feedback, that'd be great.

Thanks for reading,

Jakyerski


	3. Peter

A/N: Bit of a change of pace. Fliping through my Ipod, I came across the song _A Silent Melody_ from the Infamous Soundtrack (preformed by "Working For a Nuclear Free City"). I thought the lyrics could describe Peter looking at the Potter's home after the attack, and...well here we are.

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Looking at the wreckage before him, a young man was completely lost. Oh, he knew where he was physically, but inside… nothing. No stability, no sense of direction, no purpose, nothing. Just lost. He was free, that much was certain, at the expense of another's freedom, but he had nowhere to go. His "friends" weren't an option. Even in his present state, he snorted. "Friends" they said. They didn't care about him, only his knowledge. They tolerated him. Those who were actually his friends…were no longer an option either. He didn't mean it! He thought that they would have… that… what did he think? That they could have defeated Him? Not likely. No, he had known what would happen when he brought the location to his master. And his friends weren't the only ones to pay the price.

Why had he come back? What was left here for him? The man he came with is gone, maybe for good. The boy was also gone, although he had no idea where or how. Nothing but the…bodies. HE had done this. Not literally (the Dark Lord did, personally), but he was still responsible. But wasn't this what he wanted? To be seen? To be acknowledged? Well, now he had done it. He would most likely be recognized, albeit posthumously (as far as everyone else was concerned). Those who had always looked down upon him, were gone, including his "master". So why did he feel so… empty?

They had shut him out as the years had gone on, right? Well, sort of, but never intentionally. They looked down on him, condescended to him! Actually, they were much nicer and much more understanding than his other so-called "friends". But most of all, memories were running through his head: shaking hands on the train, a pair of dashing purebloods willing to speak with him, not just speak near him, but let him participate! Arguing with that Hat…finally convincing it that being in a house with two (and most likely the third) of his new friends was more important than fitting in…yes, there was a time where he valued his friendships over fitting in to the general group. Standing out was okay, as long as those three were with him. And all through school that philosophy held. Other memories over various pranks played on a massive list of people, most of which would later be his associates.

After school, when he was less useful, he was slowly sidelined. The Order thanked him for his service, but never used him for anything. His friends insisted that they weren't keeping him out of the fight on purpose, and maybe they weren't. But Dumbledore, that barmy old coot, was. He didn't want the little guy getting hurt…bastard. So he decided to show them…to show them all! He could be great without them. When the Dark Lord's servants came with their proposals again, he accepted. And when he had the information he needed, to finally prove to his friends that he could fight without them, he hadn't hesitated. But now, feeling so confused, so empty…what went wrong?

Everything.

He felt...numb. The pain would come, he knew that. Even if their bodies had been moved, he could still see them, their blank eyes staring, accusing. Just like every other person he had to kill or torture. the act itself wasn't hard. The aftermath...that was the challenge. The others had dehumanized thier victims: "their just Muggles!" or "their just Mudbloods/Muggle-lovers..." But he could never do that. growing up around muggle-born students, he had never developed the same prejudices as the others. His parents were both magical, but neither were from any prominent pureblood family. Both were half-bloods, and so he was merely accepted in his new role. And he had never grown into that role. No matter how many he killed behind his mask, he still felt horrible after.

It would be even worse now, he was sure. Those namelss victims were nothing compare to these. James's laugh, and a clap on the shoulder, Lily's smile and words of encouragement. Gone. Remus's ideas, harmless pranks, and advice. Sirius's ideas, harmless(-ish) pranks, and "advice". All gone.

Fear slowly breaks through the numbness. What will he do now? Run? To where? Nowhere! No home, No friends…only friend left thinks he's dead. The other servants would turn him in for a reward, or kill him outright for leading their master to his doom. The Dark Lord can't be dead, not entirely. The master had done some ritual before coming here, he said it was part of the secret to his immortality. While he had known better than to ask how it worked, he did know that the Dark Lord was never wrong. Ever! So he must be ready…yes, he would prepare for His return. Survive just until the return… but how?

He would hide. But where? Who would take him in? No one… why would anyone shelter a stranger in the current social climate, and if he was recognized, well he was supposed to be dead! Where could he go? Again no one would take him in…but maybe silence would work. Hide from everyone and everything, including (or perhaps especially) from himself. To shift to change, to get as far away from this mess of a life as possible. But how to start over? Changing his life…of course! Hide away! And what better way to hide than…

Peter Pettigrew took one last look around at the destroyed home of his former friends, shed one final tear, and with a pop, scurried away. that action broke the last bits of the numb sensation, and the rest of his emotions swirled through. In that mix, however, one feeling stood out above all the others… _  
_

Regret.

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So I'm not really sure where to go next. Anyone have any requests? I'll probably figure something out, but would like your input.

And please, as every author always asks: Review!

Thanks for reading,

Jakyerski


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